I play a one-on-one game of Starfare while DTerra finishes up his game and then we get in a queue to play some two-on-twos. We’re deep into our third game when, somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Dad slamming the door. After we win I tell DT I’ve got to go and I head downstairs to tell Dad about my job.
I find him in his study, watching a golf tournament.
“Hey,” he says, as I step through the open door. “Catch this.”
I walk around and stand next to him while we watch a replay of a chip shot from some guy in checkered pants that bounces on the green and works its way to within a few inches of the hole.
“Jesus, I could die and go to heaven happy if I hit just one shot like that in my life.”
As far as I could figure, Dad only plays golf about once a month. I have no idea how he thinks he could get any good at it, playing that much. If I played Starfare once a month I’d be a total noob in no time, and that’s starting out good.
“Dad,” I say, “I got a job.”
He looks away from the TV, at me, looking surprised.
“That was quick work.”
“Yeah, I’m starting over at Saviano’s on Monday.”
“Saviano’s? Think you’ll be able to get us some free pizza?”
I tell him I don’t know. Then he fires off about a dozen questions, about how much I’m making, how many hours I got guaranteed, whether I get overtime. Each one I answer by saying I don’t know yet, that I haven’t even started. Each time I say that he looks more disgusted.
“Sounds a little shaky to me,” he finally says. “But don’t worry. I’ll pump it up when I talk to your mom. You at least bought yourself some time.”
Before I go to bed I send out an email to Mom and Garrett telling them about my new career in the food services industry. Mom says she checks her email a couple of times a week, so I don’t expect any immediate response. But Garrett is right on top of it and IMs me.
3-PointShooter: Hey nice job with the job…bet dad is in shock
ActionSeth: not really
3-PointShooter: man I miss those Saviano pies. Tell Saviano he opens a store up here he’d make a killing
ActionSeth: there’s no Saviano—guy’s name is O’Neill
3-PointShooter: who cares as long as it tastes good
ActionSeth: exactly
3-PointShooter: how many hours?
ActionSeth: not sure yet, maybe 20 or so
3-PointShooter: cool u get free pizza right?
I’m not sure if I should say anything but I figure if anyone has good advice in this department it’s Garrett.
ActionSeth: 1 10-inch with every shift. And there’s this girl who works there
3-PointShooter: alright little bro! Now you’re talking, hot right?
ActionSeth: well, yeah, but it’s more than that
3-PointShooter: better yet. if you look in the back of dad’s bottom dresser drawer he has about 10 boxes of condoms…
ActionSeth: I know. But I’ve hardly talked 2 her yet…
3-PointShooter: Just show that ur interested in whatever she’s interested in man. Good things will happen. I promise.
I sign off with a sigh. Maybe it’s that easy for Garrett.
19.
On Monday I wake up late, get some Lucky Charms and spend some time watching some new Korean tournament Starfare games that have just been posted. Every time I think I’ve stepped up my game I watch these guys play and realize that I’m slipping further behind. It’s just seems that they’re able to make every move faster and with fewer steps, like when you solve a math problem in nine steps and then the teacher shows you how to do it in five. But then again, once the teacher shows the shortcuts they’re immediately obvious. I’m thinking that if I were training with other pros and we were all trading shortcuts and strategies, it would probably be the same.
In the back of my mind I’m trying to figure out whether I should get to Saviano’s early, to show how eager I am, or right on time, to show that I can follow directions. I finally decide that it would be best to be a little early so I head over to the store, but when I get to the door I change my mind and just hang outside, checking my cell phone until it says 3:59.
Once inside I see the girl who gave me the application standing behind the register. When I get near I start to tell her that I’m here to work but she shushes me and I see she’s counting change. She’s got her hair tied back again, green Saviano’s Pizza baseball hat on. Her lips are moving with the count, and I can’t take my eyes off of them. I’m trying to read what number she’s on, but I can’t read lips and in my mind she’s whispering, “Seth, Seth, Seth.” This makes my face feel hot so I decide to memorize the menu. I figure that will come in handy.
I’m all the way to the subs when she startles me and says, “The old man docks us if we’re short.” She’s wiping her hands on her apron, like the money was filthy, which is what my mom is always saying. “So I always count it out, start of my shift. Supposed to be $50, and about half the time it’s off. About a hundred percent of that time it’s short.”
I nod.
“Anyway,” she says. “It’s right today. Hey, I saw you waiting outside. If the place is open you can come in.”
I’m thinking of how stupid I looked standing out there, not knowing she could see me the whole time. Just kind of walking around, looking at my phone every so often.
“You’re Hannah, right?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. You’re Seth.”
Mr. O’Neill must have told her.
“I read your application, Mr. Seth Gordon.” She gives me a grin, like she’d actually been looking through a family photo album, with pictures of naked babies. “What can I say. It was sitting on the counter and I got here early. Sounds like you’re some sort of math brain.”
You had to put down the courses you had taken the previous year.
“Not really.”
“Well you are compared to me. My goal is to take as little as possible.”
She waves me around the counter. “Come on, I’ll show you what you’re going to be doing.”
I follow her into the back room, watching the way the two pale, faded spots on the back of her jeans move with each step, like the worn denim was alive and an extension of her skin and I can’t help imagining what that might feel like if I just reached out…
As we walk through how to use the ovens, how to work the assembly area, she tells me a little bit about herself. Like how much it sucks when your parents make you move halfway across the country the summer before your senior year. Hannah had lived most of her life in New Jersey. But she didn’t really have an accent, like those kids on the Jersey Shore show.
When I ask she says, “Where I lived people don’t have Jersey accents. It’s not a plus when you interview at Ivies.”
At around five a couple of more guys show up for work, and for the next couple of hours I just sort of follow them around and watch. Hannah is working the front of the store and when it slows down at around ten I punch out. Before I head out the back door I pick up Hannah’s time card and check out her last name. When I get home I light up my monitor. It takes about two minutes to find her Facebook page.
She’s got hundreds of friends, but the only one I recognize is a guy from my school, Steve, who